


If You Look Really Closely, You Might Be Able To Tell The Difference

by Marzi



Category: Good Omens, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demon!Aziraphale, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, angel!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 17:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzi/pseuds/Marzi
Summary: People who said Aziraphale didn't resemble a snake had never seen a python after it had swallowed a deer. Crowley had seen such a thing before, alongside quite a lot of other things snakes could do (especially concerning apples); and it was never difficult to conjure up the image of a contented reptile, napping on its coils after a fine meal, especially whilst joining the demon at the Ritz. Of course those same people who didn't think Aziraphale looked like a snake would also take it upon themselves to say Crowley did not much resemble an angel. What with the black clothes, the leather, and the pointed boots. To which Crowley's response would be, 'yes well, that is rather the point, can't be down here thwarting evil with a flowing gown and a fucking celestial harp can I, would draw a bit of attention' and the non-existent conversation would be closed.





	If You Look Really Closely, You Might Be Able To Tell The Difference

People who said Aziraphale didn't resemble a snake had never seen a python after it had swallowed a deer. Crowley had seen such a thing before, alongside quite a lot of other things snakes could do (especially concerning apples); and it was never difficult to conjure up the image of a contented reptile, napping on its coils after a fine meal, especially whilst joining the demon at the Ritz. Of course those same people who didn't think Aziraphale looked like a snake would also take it upon themselves to say Crowley did not much resemble an angel. What with the black clothes, the leather, and the pointed boots. To which Crowley's response would be, 'yes well, that is rather the point, can't be down here thwarting evil with a flowing gown and a fucking celestial harp can I, would draw a bit of attention' and the non-existent conversation would be closed.

Crowley swirled the last bit of the wine in their glass, considering whether or not to order another or just miracle it so that last little bit never went away, no matter how much they drank.

“Another bottle?” Aziraphale smiled over their now cleaned plate.

“Oh, save it.” As far as temptations went, the question barely counted.

Aziraphale kept smiling, holding up their napkin to barely conceal their yawn. Their jaw unhinged just a tad too far, so anyone watching was vaguely unsettled, and completely unsure as to why. 'Just someone who is sleepy after their lunch', they would think, and hastily divert their eyes, trying to banish the thought of fangs and suddenly too tight spaces. A waiter who happened to look over at the wrong moment tripped and dropped the last bottle of something expensive, no doubt to be taken out of their wages. Crowley sighed and slouched in their seat, considering whether or not they should seriously discuss putting a moratorium on miracles at the Ritz that didn't have to do with food.

“Do sit up straight, my dear,” Aziraphale tutted, folding up their napkin and setting it back on the table.

“Not much point. My back isn't going to go bad.” They wiggled a little farther down in their seat, almost to the point where the staff might take exception if they were paying too close attention to their table. They never did.

The frustrated man attempting to reconnect with his adult daughter four tables over saw, remembered her as a sullen teenager, trying to sink out of sight, and knew with a sudden clarity that he couldn't let her sink out of his life forever. He hesitated, stopped talking, and finally started listening.

Aziraphale shot Crowley a look over their wineglass. “Must we do this here. We were having lunch.”

Crowley resisted the urge to point out _Aziraphale_ had been having lunch, eating was their thing, but for once didn't much feel like starting an argument. The demon had been acting oddly over the phone when they extended the invitation to dine. So they sat back up in their chair and swirled their wine around a bit more. “You started it.”

“Mm. Still. What do you say we head back to the shop?”

The shop of course being Aziraphale's shop, but Crowley didn't much mind the vagueness of the statement, where passerby could infer 'the shop' to be a number of things, including belonging to both of them. The bookshop matched Azirphale remarkably well, both were inviting, somewhat rounded and rather plain on the outside, while their insides were full of sharp corners, tight deadly spaces, and far too much Shakespeare.

Crowley agreed and they left, with Crowley leaving a sizable tip on the table and the manager suddenly comping a very expensive meal and not knowing why. Their inability to explain it would get them in trouble with their boss later. All in all, not much of anything accomplished one way or another, which was much the point since the start of the whole Arrangement.

Once outside the restaurant, Crowley took possession of their car from a slightly confused valet who could have sworn they had just gone to pick up a different vehicle.

The Bentley zipped through traffic at obnoxious speeds, and Aziraphale winced the whole way, clutching at the door and dashboard. Traffic laws had been a joint effort between them, most regulations concerning slowing down near school children being Crowley's influence, while utterly inane parking signs with too many rules were Aziraphale's. Going the speed limit was often hotly debated on both ends, as the speed of the surrounding traffic factored into whether or not one should adhere to them, with their opinions on what to do in those situations flip-flopped depending on said traffic speed. Crowley knew that they weren't going to hurt anybody, ergo they went whatever speed they liked, leaving a strange trail of perfect opportunities for other cars to merge into lanes from whence a Bentley very shortly occupied. Aziraphale generally advocated for the speed limit, as that tended to be the most annoying thing other drivers encountered on the road. They also didn't like getting jostled so much after eating.

They arrived outside the bookshop with minimal whinging, and Crowley opened the car door for Aziraphale because it was the polite thing to do. Aziraphale thanked them, because technically not thwarting a demon was a bad thing. Since key rings were a nuisance the demon had enjoyed creating, they took their time searching for their key to the shop door. Long enough for a random pedestrian to become interested, and view the signage with the sudden intent to become a Customer rather than a Passerby. As they ambled over with a question forming on their lips, most likely concerning the opening of the store and the potential purchase of something therein, Aziraphale looked over from their keys and into their eyes.

When people looked at Aziraphale's eyes, they tended to say they were blue. Sky blue, if they bothered to think about it for a moment longer. More like the sky reflected on the surface of a calm, cold lake, if they were to consider it more. The kind of lake your friends tell you is perfectly fine once you're in, so long as you jump in all at once, but as soon as you do you immediately regret it and wonder why they were your friends in the first place, because suddenly you're freezing and in deeper than you thought, and was something now nibbling at your toes? It was the sort of thing that made it so most people didn't look Aziraphale in the eye more than once, and definitely not for more than a moment. So long as they didn't think about it too much.

Under direct scrutiny, the Almost-Customer stilled and visibly swallowed. Crowley sighed and nudged their sunglasses back up the bridge of their nose.  
  
Most people didn't see Crowley's eyes because they were behind said sunglasses. When people did catch a peak there tended to be a small amount of panic, what with the divine light bleeding out of them. The panic generally receded as a sense of utter calm and contentment swept them up, feeling pleasant childhood memories of warm summers bubbling to the surface as the light made them consider all the innocent joy in the world they once had. All in all, Crowley generally found it pretty inconvenient and kept their eyes covered.

They did not offer the divine light to the suddenly petrified person standing outside, and instead saved them a different way. “You could open the door any day now, snake.”

Aziraphale _hmm'd_ and opened the shop, just long enough for they and Crowley to slip through the door. The figure left on the pavement hurried off as quickly as they could without actually running, suddenly feeling as if they had escaped from the jaws of death.

“Tea or something stronger?” Aziraphale's voice had an odd way of echoing in their shop, as if it were a vast empty room rather a place crammed with more books than was rightly possible. It added to the spooky 'you are most unwelcome' vibe they had imbued the place with since they had opened it over two centuries ago.

Crowley ambled after them, dodging innocuous tripping hazards with practiced ease. Humans couldn't be in the shop for more than a moment without stubbing a toe on something or knocking into a particularly sharp book corner. The place was as hospitable as a thorn bush, the old book titles as inciting to the unwary as a particularly well formed rose. Most people still had enough good sense to get out before becoming too scratched. Crowley had stopped asking where their good sense had gone a long while ago.

“Something stronger, I think.”

“Ah yes, I have just the ticket, right here...”

When they returned with a bottle and two wine glasses, Crowley had already sprawled across a tartan sofa. The demon had clearly indulged in the pattern so much because it was an unholy crime against fashion and good sense. Aziraphale poured for them both before taking up an armchair in matching tartan upholstery.

“Going to tell me what's gotten you in such a state?” Crowley did their best not to sound particularly concerned, but more than a little worry leaked through. They were an angel. It was well within their rights to be worried about what a demon got up to. And there was nothing more to be thought about _that._

Aziraphale took a fortifying sip of wine. “I had a bit of a late night, last night. Had to take the bus out to Oxford, well, Tadfield more precisely.”

“Why the bus? I could have driven you.” If there were any wiles being sown, it was easier to thwart them from the Bentley. Public transit had started out as an angelic endeavor but definitely had ended up on the demonic side in the end. Normally Aziraphale avoided it.

“Oh I appreciate the thought, my dear, but I'm afraid things would have been quite awkward with you in tow. I was already late for my meeting as it was.”

“Official business, was it?”

“Oh yes.” They took another large drink from their wineglass.

Crowley didn't sit up but they did slide around a bit on the couch cushions. It was best to appear as disaffected as possible when Bad News appeared to be on the horizon. “And?”

“It's the Antichrist. It seems Armageddon is on the way.” Aziraphale ran a hand through their white-blonde hair and sighed forlornly. “I would have called you sooner, but the bus didn't get me back until well after breakfast, which I hadn't had a chance to have; and then by the time I got a hold of you, lunch was much more appealing than thinking about the end of the world.” They buried their expression of pinched concern in another _glug_ of wine.

Crowley sat up rather suddenly at that. “Well. I guess that means Gabriel didn't interrupt my nap for nothing then.” Crowley had honestly wondered if the whole thing had been a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, since Gabriel had featured in it. “The end times.”

Aziraphale gave an unhappy burble from the armchair.

Crowley got up from the couch and grabbed the bottle off the coffee table. “We're going to need a few more of these.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was really just a writing exercise for myself on whether or not I could keep them as true to who they are, but also, y'know, fundamentally change them. And I get, for design reasons, why the show did what it did between angels and demons, but I quite liked how in the book that it is explicitly stated that angels and demons are almost impossible to tell apart.


End file.
